


Claw Machines and Butter Pats

by Imbroglio



Category: Marvel
Genre: Gen, bucky gets stuck, claw machines, so much butter, they're all rigged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-08-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:31:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imbroglio/pseuds/Imbroglio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha gets people into predicaments sometimes. Bucky Barnes just happens to be the latest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Claw Machines and Butter Pats

      He isn’t sure what he’s expecting when he rushes into the dark truck stop at 3 in the morning. Something bad, definitely; Bucky’s text only said “Emergency,” but considering the things Bucky doesn’t consider emergencies, Steve is preparing himself for level-ten bloodshed and violence and possibly Bucky in Winter-Soldier mode.

     Instead, he finds Bucky crouched on the dirty tile in front of a claw machine full of plush toys, including a Thor figure and an Iron Man mask, with his forehead pressed against the glass, right arm stuck up inside the retrieval slot. No enemy; no blood; no evidence of violence past or present.

     He pauses to take in the sight. Bucky side-eyes him with a glare, but doesn’t say anything yet—probably because the fast food place just across the lobby still has two overnight employees, who can’t see the claw machine from where they are, but would have a great view if something made them curious enough to step out from behind the counter and walk a few feet to the left.

      “Stuck?” Steve says. His heart is still pounding, but his voice doesn’t tremble.

     “Shut up,” Bucky says in an undertone, shifting slightly. “Help me get my arm out of this.”

     Steve tries to oblige, but Bucky’s somehow managed to get his arm wedged in at such an angle that they can’t get it out without breaking it. “What the hell,” Steve gasps, stepping back. “How did you possibly manage to do that?”

     “It was an accident,” Bucky says, tugging at his arm again.

     Steve glances toward the restaurant counter. One of the employees glances over, but after a moment resumes her counter wiping.

     “Okay,” Steve says, “I really want to know what led up to this point.”

     “Natasha.” Bucky wiggles his arm, then swears. He’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, but he’s got at least two knives on him. Steve had thought he was on a mission. “Natasha is what led up to this point.”

     “Where is she, then?”

     “Not here.”

     Steve glances at Bucky’s left arm. “You could always just—“

     “Not breaking anything.”

     “When did you grow all these ethics?”

     Bucky taps his forehead gently against the glass. “I plan on destroying the security footage and leaving no evidence of this ever happening. And if you tell anyone,” he adds, “including Natasha— _especially_ Natasha—the entire world will find out about the true fate of Henry Renfro’s cat.”

     After fifteen more minutes of maneuvering, prying, and pulling, Steve realizes that as things are, there is no way Bucky’s arm is coming out without breaking either it or the machine.

     “Why didn’t you just put a quarter in?”

     “I put about twenty dollars’ worth of quarters in,” Bucky growls. “And Natasha did her share, too. The thing’s fixed.”

     “So you decided to just—“

     “Get a damn stuffed animal. Yes, I did. I’ve got no choice.”

     “You’ve always got a choice, Buck,” Steve says. Even with claw machines.

     Bucky somehow manages to look terrifying despite the circumstances. “So help me, Rogers, if you turn this into a therapy session—“

     Steve holds his hands up and gets back to the most pressing problem. “What we need is some sort of lubricant.” He glances around the empty game room, but there’s nothing to help them out. Then he looks back at the restaurant. He turns away from Bucky. “I’m going to go ask for—“

     “Don’t you dare,” Bucky says. “Don’t you dare bring them over here.”

     “I won’t tell them anything.”

     Despite Bucky’s whispered protests, Steve walks up to the counter and smiles.

     “Good evening. Could I have some butter?”

     The older woman, whose nametag says “Anita,” looks up from the ice cream machine and grabs him a couple packets of butter from under the counter.

     “No,” Steve says. “I need a lot, please. All the butter you have would probably do.”

     Anita looks at him blankly. The younger employee, who looks like he’s about sixteen—“Jeffrey”—leans over. “Are you Captain America?” he says.

     “Yes,” Steve answers.

     “And you need my entire supply of butter,” Anita says.

     “Yes,”  Steve answers.

     “Is something going on?” Jeffrey asks.

     “Yes,” Steve answers, “but it’s nothing life threatening. More of a—personal matter. And I’d really appreciate it if you’d just stay behind the counter for a couple minutes,” he adds.

     Anita narrows her eyes. “Is there something illegal going on? Because I really can’t turn my back on illegal things happening during my shift.”

     “Nothing illegal. Just personal, like I said.”

     Anita still looks at him suspiciously, but Jeffrey starts dumping trays of butter pats onto the counter. “It’s going to come out around fifty dollars,” he says, “unless Anita gives you a discount or something.”    

     Anita rolls her eyes slightly, but starts ringing the butter up. “I can give it to you for about twenty dollars. That good?”

     “Perfect.” He reaches into his pocket for his wallet, which by some miracle he actually brought with him. “I really appreciate it.”

     Jeffrey starts sweeping the cups into a bag. “Are we ever going to find out why Captain America bought ten pounds of butter at 3 a.m.? Because if you can’t tell us, cool, but it’s seriously going to drive me nuts for the rest of my life.”

     “You probably won’t,” Steve says. “I’m sorry. This stuff happens sometimes.”

     Jeffrey shrugs. “Hey, it’s cool. I’ve got a good story to tell my friends next time they ask how work’s going.”

     “There’s a watchman coming around in about half an hour,” Anita tells him. “Just a head’s up.”

     He thanks them both, shakes Jeffrey’s hand, and takes the butter back to Bucky, who is tapping an erratic staccato with his metal fingers. “Got it,” he said.

     It takes them about ten minutes to open all the little packets and slather Bucky’s arm from his shoulder to just beyond his elbow, which is as far as either of them can reach. Steve wipes the grease from his own hands and studies the situation, wondering what’s the best way to go about this.

     “I don’t think me pulling it is going to do any good,” he finally says. “See if you can get it out now.”

     Bucky stares at his own arm as if it doesn’t belong to him, long enough for Steve to start getting worried. “I got stuck in an elevator shaft once,” he finally says. “The building had been bombed. Metal arm got lodged between the elevator and the outside wall. I was there for a long time, couldn’t get it out, something got pinched and it was just dead weight.”

     Steve never really knows what to say to the memories Bucky dredges up from his time with Hydra.

     “They came to get me eventually. Used a crowbar and a flame torch to get me out. That wasn’t the only time I got stuck somewhere.” Bucky frowns at his arm. “But I’m pretty sure this is the first time it’s involved butter.”

     Steve solemnly tips another cup over his bicep. “C’mon, try it now.”

     It takes another fifteen minutes and ten more dollars of butter, as well as an autograph on Jeffrey’s visor, to get Bucky’s arm free. But eventually they do, with only minor damage to the claw machine, and Steve finds out why it was so difficult. “Seriously? You’ve been hanging onto that this whole time?”

     Bucky clutches the stuffed toy that had been keeping him trapped to his stomach. It’s a pillow with a spider on it—a black widow, Steve realizes as he notices the red hourglass.

     “Bucky,” he says. “Be honest with me. Did Natasha put you up to this?”

     Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t know how it happened,” he said. “She saw it and got all excited—something about Stark and Thor getting all the merchandise. She spent all her money, and I spent all my money, and we still didn’t have the stupid thing. Then she got a call and I told her I’d get it for her.” He frowns at it. “I couldn’t go back without it.”

     Steve tries to hold the laughter back, but it’s a quarter to four in the morning and his pockets are full of butter pats. He leans against the wall and laughs as quietly as he can for a few minutes.

     “Did you drive?” Bucky asks when he’s done laughing.

     Steve nods.

     “Go out to the car,” Bucky tells him. “I’ll be out in a minute.” He hands Steve the stuffed spider, and Steve accepts it as the precious burden that it is.

     He waves to Anita and Jeffrey as he leaves, and Jeffrey waves back with a huge grin on his face. Anita also waves, but she’s not smiling. She just looks confused. Then he waits in the car for Bucky to join him. Eventually Bucky slides into the passenger seat and hands him a second plushy. It’s a soft, fluffy version of his shield.

     “Thanks,” Steve says. “But please don’t tell me you stuck your hand back in there.”

     Bucky stares straight ahead as Steve pulls out of the parking lot and onto the highway. Then, as they head home, he shakes his head.

     “The key was in the security room,” he admits grudgingly.

     “And I mean it,” he adds several minutes later. “All everyone ever knows is that I beat the stupid machine and got Natasha’s toy for her.”

     “Cross my heart,” Steve promises.

     But he starts laughing again, and this time he doesn’t bother trying to keep it in. He’s not sure. But Bucky maybe laughs a little, too.

    

**Author's Note:**

> I...have no explanation for this. Inspired by this prompt from otpdisaster.tumblr.com: http://otpdisaster.tumblr.com/post/125072051650/person-a-getting-an-emergency-call-from-b-a here


End file.
